


Flashes of A Life Lived Quietly

by waterlilyvioletfog



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Lyanna Stark Lives, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rhaegar Targaryen Bashing, Strangers to Lovers, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24415510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterlilyvioletfog/pseuds/waterlilyvioletfog
Summary: Glimpses of how Lyanna Stark fell in love with him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 129





	Flashes of A Life Lived Quietly

**"With this kiss I pledge my love-"**

"And take you for my lord and husband." 

"And take you for my lady and wife." 

"I now declare Lyanna of House Stark and Ser Jaime of House Lannister to be of one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." 

*** 

He looked at his wife. She did not seem at all happy, but he wasn't either, so that suited him just fine. 

"Shall we begin?" 

"I'm not certain where that would be." 

"Er, kissing? I think." 

A sigh. "So long as you don't taste horrible." 

He'd only kissed one woman in his life before, and her father would never have permitted any flirtations on her part, so it was a bit odd at first- their noses bumping up against each other, like they weren't sure where to go. Lyanna tasted like the red that had been served at the wedding feast, but not even so much as She had. Eventually, their mouths seemed to settle against each other and the kiss deepened. One hand lifted up to touch his wife's face, the other left his side to brush her waist. His thumb settled there and started little brushstrokes, smoothing down the fabric of her shift, all the clothing the other men had permitted her to keep. She was much shorter than he, and she needed to tilt her head up to kiss him properly, but she did, and her hands came up to settle in his hair. 

His shirt came off first, then his leggings, her stockings, her shift, their smallclothes which kept them from each other's gazes- each inch of new skin uncommented on. The lips pressed to nipples and hollows in throats were not caresses; there was no tenderness here, only the knowledge that keeping close would make this a bit more pleasant. One kissed the other's pulse, open-mouthed, until red bloomed up, then laved the mark with their tongue. When all their clothes were gone, he lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs about his waist- and they fell into the bed, and you know as well as I do what it is that happened there. 

They did not speak when it was over, only ran soft fingers over each other's shoulders. Their mouths stayed grim, their eyes tired, and though they slept the whole night together, even in unconsciousness, they did not seek one another's warmth. 

*** 

It was a good thing, Jaime reflected, that the boy looked nothing at all like his father. Well, perhaps. There was a darkness to his eyes, a sharpness to his jaw, and maybe also the slender power of his body, all lithe where his cousin Robb Stark was broad. But his hair was brown, eyes still grey, nose long, mouth frowning, and he had not the height that his father had claimed. He said none of this to his wife, however. The boy was one of those topics which they did not discuss. 

Their own children were undeniably his- golden gleaming here, flashing emerald eyes there, every one of their children blessed with the riotous curls the Lannisters passed down. 

Ned Stark had claimed the boy as his own, back even before they had been married, before his father could catch wind of him and realize the truth. He might have figured it out anyway but- killing your gooddaughter's illegitimate son was really rather rude, and generally did not contribute well to household happiness. Everyone knew, except King Fat Arse and Lady Stark. The king would not have clapped Stark's shoulder so joyfully if he had known. 

"You know," Jaime said to the boy, when he had a moment alone with him, "If you can't go to King's Landing with your father or stay in Winterfell- your aunt and I would be quite happy to host you at Casterly Rock." 

Jon came south with them, and Lyanna cried into Jaime's chest in the privacy of their own rooms. He held her there and whispered nothings in her ears. 

*** 

Jason, Myrcella, Joanna, Lansa, and Edwin, they named them. Jason and Myrcella were the eldest, twins, and though they had a certain twinly eeriness- they always knew where the other was, and if one was burned they other would cry out even if they were separated by a mile. They grew to three, then six, then nine, and Jaime kept careful watch over them and all his children. Thankfully, there was no need for worry. 

When the twins were born, Jaime wept, and he wept when all the rest were born, too. 

"Lions!" He whispered to his wife, "Oh, my little cubs!" 

The kiss he pressed to Lyanna's hair was their first moment of tenderness, but it was not their last. 

Lyanna might have disagreed, said they were _wolves_ , but she felt the gold that ran through her children, so she did not say a word. Rhaegar would not have wept when Jon was born, would not have pressed his lips against her sweat-slick temple, would not have cradled his children to his breast like they were the most precious creatures in the universe.

*** 

Nightmares were passing common for them both- he woke unable to breathe from the stench of cooked flesh at least thrice in a sennight. She did not tell him what haunted her dreams, but he could guess. They would hold each other until the dreamer stopped crying. It was not a pleasant nightly ritual, but the thought of waking alone make both of them want to scream. 

Lyanna did not beat about the bush. She did not dissemble or mask her intentions. She never lied. 

Jaime always stepped cautiously about her when they were in the darkness of their chamber. He did not mind to jape at her when the sun was high and they both had swords in their hands, but at night he knew that if she left, he'd leap from the window into the sea. 

"What did you dream about?" Lyanna asked, voice slow with sleep. 

The pyromancer. He ate a drumstick and the bone got stuck in his throat- except it was his sword, not a bone, and the pyromancer choked on it, and with each cough there'd been a little gasp of green flame that spat out and licked at him. He told his wife. She did not say anything. Lyanna knew Jaime well enough to know that very few of her platitudes helped with the nightmares. Instead, she brushed their noses together and kissed him on the lips. 

*** 

"I love you." 

"I love you, too." 

"Will you tell me something?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Am I a better lover?" 

" _Jaime_." 

"I'm serious- mmph." 

"Jaime?" 

"Yes, love?" 

"Please be quiet and let me kiss you." 

"As my lady commands."


End file.
